


systematically dropping pure heat

by jk_rockin



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Community: daredevilkink, Fingerfucking, Gags, Multi, Sex Pollen, Threesome, consent issues due to sex pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-13 23:42:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4542027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jk_rockin/pseuds/jk_rockin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Claire puts a hand on Karen's forehead. She's definitely running hot, but a fever wouldn't explain how she arches under Claire's touch, or the <i>noise</i> she makes, which is. Well. That's not a sick person noise. "Did you take anything? Pills? Alcohol?"</p>
<p>"No," Karen moans. "I just- there was pastry."</p>
            </blockquote>





	systematically dropping pure heat

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt on the Daredevil Kink Meme](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/3230.html?thread=7448222#cmt7448222), featuring efficient top Claire, service top Foggy with the assist, and sex pollen'd bottom Karen, who is somewhat confused, but 100% into Hottie McBurnerphone coming to her sexy rescue. This came out weirdly... melancholy? I'M SORRY, I'M THE WORST AT PORN.
> 
> Mostly written under the influence of listening to a lot of Placebo, re-reading [Teamwork (Makes the Dream Work)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3976441) by [Ahavaa](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Ahavaa/pseuds/Ahavaa), and my seemingly endless internal well of perversity. Warnings for dubious consent due to sex pollen; as always, if you spot something I should have tagged for, please let me know! (I should also apologise for how long it takes anything to happen, but I love dialogue and action is hard, so. Sue me. Hire cute lawyers.) 
> 
> Title taken from _Automatic_ by Nicki Minaj. NO REGRETS.

Claire has been back in Hell's Kitchen all of two weeks when Matt drops off the list of phone numbers. He put it an envelope, with a note and everything, but he clearly had to break into her apartment to leave it on her kitchen table, and that's not all that polite. It's got three numbers in it, neatly typed and labelled- "FN", "KP" and "DD".

Subtle, Matt.

She does not call him. He doesn't call her either, which is... a relief? Probably? The ER at Metro General is no less busy with Fisk gone underground, so she's hardly sat up nights pining like a lovesick maiden, but there was a certain... frisson, maybe, to a man in black climbing through her window at night.

When the phone does ring, she tells herself she won't answer. She's got enough problems in her life, she's keeping out of it, she doesn't need Daredevil's troubles as well- but it's not DD calling. It's FN.

She answers the phone.

"Hello? Claire?" The voice on the phone isn't Matt, but it is familiar. His friend, then, Foggy, who called her when Matt- who called her that last time.

"Yeah," she says.

"Hi, this is Foggy. We have, uh. A friend in common? He gave me this number in case I needed help." Someone moans, long and loud, in the background. "I could use some."

"I told our mutual friend I wasn't doing this anymore," Claire says, quietly.

"It's actually not him," Foggy says. "For once. It's... look, can I give you an address?"

"Text it to me," she sighs, slipping her sneakers back on. "You're paying my cab fare, by the way."

The cab drops her outside a down-at-heel office building on the other side of the Kitchen. Foggy, waiting on the stoop, pays the cabbie, and leads her up the stairs to a tiny office with a paper sign taped to the door.

"Jesus," she mutters. "I'd known you were this hard up, I'd have walked."

Foggy huffs out a humourless laugh. His tie is askew; he looks a little shocky, but not my-BFF-is-bleeding-out-on-the-floor bad. Very reassuring. "She's through here," he says, pointing to one of the offices, where a pale blonde woman is sitting, knees tucked up to her chest, in the chair behind the desk. "Karen?"

Karen is familiar too, and she looks terrible, curled in on herself and shaking. "Foggy," she says, voice low and raspy. "Foggy, please, I need-"

"Medical attention," says Foggy loudly. "Claire, this is Karen, our secretary. Karen, this is Claire. She's a friend. A friendly medical professional. Here to help."

Karen looks up. Her eyes- red, feverish- rake over Claire, unmistakably predatory. "I think we've met," she says.

Claire puts her bag down on the desk. "Karen, can you tell me what's happened?"

"I'm fine," Karen says.

"Well, that's blatantly a lie," says Foggy. "She's burning up, and she's having... impulse control issues."

Frowning, Claire puts a hand on Karen's forehead. She's definitely running hot, but a fever wouldn't explain how she arches under Claire's touch, or the _noise_ she makes, which is. Well. That's not a sick person noise. "Did you take anything? Pills? Alcohol?"

"No," Karen moans. "I just- there was pastry."

"Pastry? What, these?" Foggy picks up a box from the desk in the central room, and brings it into the office, showing Claire the elaborately decorated confections inside. "Where did you get these? They're aggressively fancy."

"After we left the courthouse, I came back to file the depositions from the Navarro case. The box was on the doorstep. I thought a client must have... I only ate one," she says, slurring a little, pressing into Claire's touch. "It tasted like roses."

"I went home, like people do, when they're done for the day, but she called me saying something about an emergency, and when I got here, she was," Foggy waves a hand at the sweating, shaking girl. "Like this. Also, handsy."

"You smelled delicious," Karen says. "Claire, have you smelled him?"

Claire and Foggy exchange a glance.

"We should take her to the hospital if she's been poisoned, right," says Foggy. He sniffs the box of pastries. "God, I wish Matt had been here. He'd probably be able to smell the bad juju."

"Where is our mutual friend, by the way?" Claire presses the fingers of her free hand to Karen's wrist, checking her pulse. She can tell it's fast, but counting beats with a patient who won't stop moving around and letting out distracting little gasps is proving to be a challenge.

"Out. Doing... Matt stuff," says Foggy, with a pained expression.

Claire nods. "I don't know if this is poison," she says. Karen's shifted under her hands, rubbing against her, and Claire's fingers are tangling in her hair. "Nothing I've seen, anyway. Her heart's racing, and her temperature's up, but that could be anything. Karen, are you experiencing pain anywhere?"

"Doesn't hurt," Karen says. "Too hot, and, and you should keep touching me. More touching."

"See what I mean? Handsy." Foggy runs a hand through his hair. "Generally very forward."

"Yeah, I'm getting that. Can you get some water, please?" He goes, and Claire turns back to the patient- to Karen, who's rubbing her thumb up the inside of Claire's wrist like she's fascinated by the sensation. "You're probably thirsty, right?"

"Parched," Karen says, looking up, and that is. That is _not a sick person voice_. "Please, Claire, I need. I need someone to touch me."

Little details- Foggy's tie, the moaning over the phone- click into place. "This a sex thing," Claire says, not to anyone in particular. "Nobody warned me this was a sex thing."

Foggy, wincing, comes back into the office, and sets a glass of water down on the table. "It's kind of a sex thing," he says, gesturing at Karen. "In my defense, I panicked."

"I brought my first aid bag," Claire says to the ceiling. "There's a suture kit in there, because I thought someone was going to have _wounds_ -"

"Please don't freak out," Foggy says. "If you're uncomfortable and want to leave, that's okay, but- Karen's my friend, but she also works here, and a man alone in the office with a female employee who's high on sex pastry? That's, like, the express ramp to unethical workplace behavior."

"Your secretary hit on you, and you called a nurse." Claire shakes her head. Matt needs people like Foggy in his life, but God, she's not sure he deserves him. "Karen, tell me what you need. I'm gonna need something more specific than 'touch me'."

"Make me come," Karen whines, pressing herself bodily against Claire. Foggy lets out a choked-off noise. "I, I tried, a couple of times, before Foggy got here, but it didn't- I need someone else touching me."

"That's okay. That's okay." Claire takes a steadying breath, then another. She doesn't have to do this. She could leave Foggy to deal with this, and just... go home, where there are no ethical dilemmas to deal with, and no gorgeous blondes begging her for orgasms. Knowing that she can leave makes it easier to stay; she'll deal with the moral stuff later. "Foggy, can we clear this desk, please? And close the blinds."

His eyes widen, but Foggy nods, stacking up papers with commendable speed. Claire guides Karen with careful touches, getting her out of the chair and up onto the desk. Her knees part easily between Claire's hands, skirt rucking up her thighs, exposing the fine marks left by the tights and panties she must, at some point, have been wearing.

"So I guess I'll, uh," says Foggy, making a valiant attempt to not stare at the expanse of bare skin on display. "Leave you to it?"

"Stay," Karen says, looking back over her shoulder at him. "Please?"

Foggy looks at Claire, who raises her eyebrows and shrugs. "Could use a spotter," she says. "Pass me the water?" He hands her the glass, and she gives it to Karen, supporting her shaking hands. "You're going to drink half of that, before we do anything else."

Karen wrinkles her nose, but drinks in small sips until Claire takes the glass back. "Hydrated," she says, scooting her butt toward the edge of the desk.

Claire rolls her eyes, and reaches for her bag. She fishes out a pair of gloves and the tube of Surgilube, and snaps the gloves on, willing her heart to slow down. Karen makes a disappointed noise when the nitrile touches her skin. "I learned your name five minutes ago," says Claire, not unkindly. "Forgive me if I could use a little distance. Now, do you know the traffic light system? Green for go, yellow for slow down, red for stop?"

"Yes." Karen's teeth are gritted, and she's curling one long, bare leg around Claire's hip, the other planted on the chair. "Yes, green, green green green-" and then she's gasping in air, shuddering, as Claire's hand dips between her thighs, fingertips sliding between her labia. "God, fuck me, I need it."

"Sure you don't want warming up first?" Claire asks, rubbing over Karen's clit. "Some people don't like it straight away."

"Put your fingers in me," Karen says, almost a sob. "Please."

Claire shushes her, soothing, and slides two fingers into her. God, Karen's so wet, and she's hot all over, but she's practically scorching here. It's so easy to pick up a rhythm, and Karen's right there with her, pushing back into every touch- she takes it so _pretty_ , head thrown back, her whole body a long wave of want. It only takes a few minutes until she comes, moaning out curses.

"Feeling better?" Claire asks, as Karen's hips slow.

"More," Karen says. "More, I need more."

"You do realise I have to work in this office, right," says Foggy, voice thick. "At this desk, even."

"My condolences," Claire says dryly.

"With neighbours who work late, and who probably thought we were freaky before this."

"This isn't the first sex crisis at Nelson & Murdock?" Claire keeps her fingers moving, trying to match pace with Karen.

"First sex crisis, yes, but there's been yelling."

"Hmm. If I make you come again, Karen, can you be quiet?" Karen wavers, biting her lip. Claire reaches up and pinches one of Karen's nipples, peaked and visible through her shirt, sighing when Karen muffles a shriek with one hand. "That's a no. Hand over the mouth?" Karen shakes her head vehemently. "Okay. Foggy, give me your tie."

"This was a gift from my mom," Foggy says, pulling the knot loose. "Pretty sure she didn't intend me to use it as a sex aid."

"Won't be me who tells her." Claire rolls up the wide end of the tie, tucking it into Karen's open mouth, and winds the long end around the back of her head, tying it off loosely at the front. Not her best work, but her other hand's busy. "Can you breathe, honey?" Karen nods, eyes wide. "Good. Since you can't talk, we're going to use hand signals, okay? Nod if you're with me."

Karen nods again. "You're spookily good at this," says Foggy.

"Zip it, helper monkey. Karen, we're going to do a thumbs-up for green, a wave for yellow, and flashes for red," Claire says, opening and closing a hand to demonstrate. "Can you show me those? Good, that's good. You're doing great."

Karen whines, low in her throat, and fucks herself on Claire's fingers a little faster, elbows slipping out from under her. Foggy catches her shoulders before she hits the desk, and the noise she makes is _filthy_ , even through the improvised gag. He steps closer, cradling her against his chest. "This okay?" he asks. Karen waves a raised thumb at him, murmuring affirmative sounds.

They stay like that, Foggy holding Karen up while Claire fucks her, through orgasm after orgasm- it's probably the chemicals making Karen so sensitive, but it seems like the smallest crook of the fingers or swipe of the thumb over her clitoris is enough to set her off again. Claire loses count as they progress to three fingers, then four, pausing to take out the gag, feed Karen more sips of water, and wipe tears and spit from her face.

It's easy, worryingly easy, in the quiet moments between, to pretend this isn't weird; that some of Matt Murdock's insane luck in finding statistically improbably beautiful people who care about him has rubbed off on her, and that she's... part of this. Just for those minutes she lets herself feel it- the heat between her own thighs, Karen's pornographic noises, Foggy's gentle murmurs of wordless comfort. Not just "medical assistance", but something real.

That's a bitter thought, and she tucks it away to deal with later. Right now, her wrists are aching, and she's sweating, and there's a task in front of her she needs to see through.

"Jesus, you're a machine," says Foggy, then giggles. "Whoops, blasphemy.”

"Not another Catholic," she grumbles. "Mi abuela would flip."

"I am so very, very lapsed." Foggy gestures vaguely, encompassing the whole scene between them. "You want the 'and Murdock' half of the practice for the religious angst."

"Could we not talk about Matt? And never tell him about this. Ever, ideally."

"He's going to know anyway," says Foggy, stroking Karen's sweaty hair. "The whole office reeks of sex- he'll probably smell it before he gets into the building." That wrings another climax out of Karen, clenching and shuddering around Claire's fingers. It's taking longer between orgasms, now, and her temperature's coming down to sex-marathon normal, so she probably won't need much more.

The last one- long, slow, Karen grinding her pelvis against Claire's hand, gasping helplessly around the wet silk in her mouth- finally, finally comes, and Karen slumps back against Foggy, flashing red for stop with a limp hand. Claire eases her fingers out, wincing, and goes for the wet wipes in her bag.

They don't talk while Claire cleans Karen up. Foggy helps, passing her tissues and rubbing Karen's shoulders, and Karen drifts off, curled up on the desk with her eyes closed, worn out or just overwhelmed.

"You should keep an eye on her overnight," Claire says. She peels off the gloves, balling them up, and drops them into the wastebasket under Foggy's desk. "I still have literally no idea what was in those pastries, but I'd toss them, if you're not going to take them to the police, like a person."

"Might have Matt run his super sniffer over them, see if we can find out where they came from," says Foggy. "But, after that, I'm thinking ceremonial burning. A Viking funeral!"

Snorting a laugh, Claire throws the pack of wet wipes into her bag. "As long as you give that tie a Christian burial," she says. "I think that's a lost cause."

"Probably right," says Foggy, prodding the sodden lump of fabric. He sighs, and pokes it off the desk into the wastebasket. "Sacrifices must be made, I guess. Anything else I should do? For Karen, I mean?"

"Make sure she stays hydrated and rests, all that stuff. Maybe an actual hospital, if she starts... y'know. If it comes back."

"Foggy can help," Karen murmurs dreamily. "Foggy's good with his hands too, Marci said-"

"You are banned from cocktail Tuesdays forever, you realise that," Foggy says, flushing pink. Claire looks him over, considering, as his flush deepens, which is really a good look on him- but, no. Too complicated already. Probably.

Claire scribbles her number- her real number- on a Post-It, and hands it to Foggy. "If symptoms persist," she says, shouldering her bag. "Not that I'm expecting to get a call like this again, mind you. It's not the kind of thing Matt asks for."

"He should," Karen says. She shifts to look at Karen, blinking sleepily. "You're so pretty, and your hands are so nice."

"Anyway!" Foggy says brightly. "Thank you. Really. We owe you one."

"Ha. Yeah, I'm leaving that alone," Claire says. "On that note, I should... go."

"Or you could not go, and there could be cuddling." Karen headbutts Foggy gently in the thigh. "In a big bed. Do either of you have a big bed? I don't."

It's- god, it's tempting, to give in to the sweet pretense that this is a thing in her life, but it is also entirely too much right now, and she has to leave. She has to go home, before her head explodes from overstimulation. "Mine's a single," she lies, turning to the door.

"Claire," says Foggy, painfully gentle. "Seriously, you're the best."

She attempts a smile back, and leaves before she can find out how good an attempt it was.

It's chilly outside, night coming on, evening traffic just starting to pick up. She rubs her hands over her arms, wrists twinging, and hails the first cab she sees. She needs a shower. A hot shower, some personal time with the shower massage, maybe a cup of tea. A slow night, for once.

**Author's Note:**

> Finally publishing pornography featuring sexual activity between people who aren't cis dudes! At last!!! If you want to yell at me about Daredevil (or anything else for that matter) I'm [jkrockin](http://jkrockin.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr as well.


End file.
